


Physical Reassurance

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Cockles [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottoming from the Top, Cockles, Cockles Week, CocklesWeek2015, Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Jensen makes him feel better, M/M, Misha having body/look insecurity, Misha is feeling insecure, Sleepy Cuddles, bottom!Jensen, top!Misha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4045636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired and hungover, Misha's already feeling crappy when he walks into the merch room and sees his and Jensen's photo op pics from earlier in the day. They're awful. He looks like a tired old man next to Jensen's perfection, and feels about the same. When Misha eventually makes back up to their room, he's in a sour mood, second-guessing how the hell Jensen ever went for him. Jensen makes it his mission of the night to make Misha feel like the incredible man that he is. </p><p>CocklesWeek2015 Prompt Fill: "13.  Please write a story where Misha feels insecure and thinks Jensen is too beautiful/perfect to be interested in him - anon."  Though this prompt seems to indicate the beginning of a relationship, I take a bit of a different view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physical Reassurance

**Author's Note:**

> Awesome beta work (and title chooser) done by [Tennyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/profile)

Why the hell had he drank so much the night before, Jensen wonders. For the eight hundredth time he rubs his hand across his face. At least the day is over, and the comfort of the hotel bed is where he plans to spend the rest of the evening.

Sure the others will try to rouse him up to go out but fuck that. They’d gotten smashed the night before, and because of it, he’d had to go through the whole day feeling like a bag of sand with a piercing headache.

Misha hadn’t been much better. Because, naturally, after they’d drunkenly stumbled through the hotel room door, clothes had miraculously fallen to the floor and by some incredible drunken effort managed to get 69-ing on the bed and sucking each other off with alcohol-warmed mouths. In fact, they’d literally woken up that morning in a dudebro bed-sharing arrangement: Misha’s feet up on the pillow besides Jensen’s face. Naked, still. Crusted come on the crisp white linens.

Poor cleaning staff. Every single time, he thinks, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Rome is like Viagra for them. No matter how many years go by, no matter how long they’ve actually been together, the second they got off that plane it’s like a damn free-for-all at the sex buffet.

Once, he’d actually gone home with a sore dick. Like it had literally endured too much friction for five days straight and what had Danneel done? Laughed at him. “ _Serves you right!”_ she’d said, snorting and giggling away. 

It’s on the comfy hotel bed that he sits and waits for Misha to finish the last of his con duties downstairs. The TV is on, but he isn’t so much paying attention as keeping it on for background noise; his eyes close softly to hold the lingering head pains at bay. Christ, hangovers last forever when you’re older. No doubt Misha has some Tylenol somewhere but Jensen is too damn lazy to go digging through those terrible outfits for it.

He’s half asleep on the bed, leaning over onto the pillows, when Misha gets back. The door closes and he stirs, barely cracking his eyes open.

“All done?” he mumbles.

“Fucking yes. Move over.” Misha wriggles his button up over his head without bothering to undo the buttons. He groans and whines as it gets stuck. Jensen could help but doesn’t move a muscle.

Finally, after some irritated efforts, the shirt is gone, undershirt too, and Misha climbs onto the queen size bed and nestles into the curve Jensen’s body makes, both of them snuggling up for a full, real touch. Their eyes close and they each let out a long sigh, taking the moment to fully relax after such a long ass day.

/\/\/\

A sudden jostle startles Misha awake, his eyes flaring open to find Jensen having bolted up. A phone is ringing somewhere close by. Identifying the intrusion as nothing more than a call, Misha slides back down to the pillow and closes his eyes. He lets the deep timbre of Jensen’s voice as he speaks to Danneel drift him back towards dreams. 

Truth is, he’s more than just tired.

It’s roughly another hour later when he fully wakes from his late evening nap. Whether or not they’re meeting up with everyone else is still a debate. Both of them are dead tired, but if the rest of the group goes out, it looks bad if they both don’t. Some know what’s up, but not everyone. Though, granted, after this weekend they’ll probably have a guess.

Misha smiles as he rolls over to find Jensen on his side, mouth gently parted, eyes closed as he sleeps on. It isn’t the first time Misha has studied his face for a significant amount of time. It’s fun to do it when they’re working—usually having the effect of getting Jen all riled up for a bit of fun later. Now, though, taking note of the smoothed skin, looking younger as he dreams, Misha is blown away by how incredibly perfect he is.

‘Course, Jensen hates it when people focus only on his looks. It’s a sore point actually. But since he can’t be chastised for his actions since the objection of his unwavering stare is out cold, he takes the opportunity.

There isn’t any one thing that makes this man so damned attractive, it’s everything. Taking a bad picture of the guy is nearly fucking impossible. And Misha has certainly tried.

Staring at this godly perfection, Misha’s mind flashes back to his walk through the merchandise room earlier that day. Partly to say hello to some fans and make a surprise appearance, but also because he’d wanted to check out their photo op from that morning, knowing the degrees of which they were still a little drunk.

Some pictures were still hanging around, and _Jesus-fuck_ they were awful. He almost wanted to ask the staff to reimburse some of the fans. There were horrendous bags under his eyes—evidence of both his age and the prior evening’s shenanigans. His hair was a little unruly; it was softer and wavier, and messed up easier than Jensen’s did.

In one particular photograph, the focus centered mainly on them, they had their arms around each other. Misha looked like a desiccated zombie, and Jensen was all movie-star gorgeous. It was depressing. It still is depressing, he thinks. Why the fuck did Jensen ever kiss him back in the first place?

How in the hell did he—an older, weird-looking, weirdo—manage to snag one of the most attractive men on the planet? And, on top of that, one who had already been married.

And…straight.

It makes absolutely zero sense. At all. Even now—actually, worse now that he’s older. The picture had caught his attention for so long that one of the fans had gone all giggles and side-eyeing him. Sneaking up on his right, she was all, “Jensen’s so hot, right?” 

For a brief split-second, he’d almost cried. Granted, he was overtired (and still is), hungover, missing his own bed, and yeah, tired. Did he mention tired as fuck?

Not ever in his life has he considered himself vain. The thing is, Misha isn’t even sure that’s necessarily where his worries stem from. Deep in his heart, he knows it’s all about the confusion of it, and the second-guessing that had started up. A crazy part of his brain wonders what’s got to be wrong with Jensen that he’s stuck around all this time.

Not one for being prone to self-doubt, it’s hard to shake once it’s got a foothold and the negative thoughts seem to pile on and support each other. The longer he dwells on it, the more it festers. 

Reaching over in an attempt to distract himself, Misha traces the pouted plump lower lip of his secret (perhaps not so secret) lover. Startled mildly, though not enough to wake, Jensen flinches. Smacking his lips a little, his familiar body shifts against the bed, sliding in closer to Misha; their knees bumping over the disturbed comforter.

“Why the fuck did you ever go for me?” he whispers.

At the sound of his voice, Jensen shuffles against him; a soft moan rising from his throat. “ _Hmm_?”

“Nothing,” he says, brushing his hand over Jensen’s head. “Never mind.” Leaning close, Misha kisses his cheek. “Are we going out tonight?”

Half asleep still, a louder groan rumbles into the room. “ _No_!” Jensen slurs, eyes closed.

“Are you planning to wake up at all, or just sleep till tomorrow?”

“Hmm… _Miiiiiiish,_ ” he whines.

Evidently, Jensen is too tired to respond with real sentences. Misha, being in a bit of a sour mood, decides to leave him be. Normally, he would’ve tried to entice his boyfriend awake but instead he heaves off the bed, limbs basically dragging over the short carpet, and walks towards the bathroom for a shower.

/\/\/\

The rushing water, cueing his need to take a piss, is what finally wakes Jensen up all the way. His earlier conversation with Danneel had been short and it lays across his mind like a dream. The room is dark, and the memory of Misha coming back to their room and crawling into bed with him is hazy. The unmistakable smell of him still lingers on the pillow near his head.

A quick glance at his phone tells him that they are sure as hell not going anywhere tonight. Everyone is already out somewhere or in a room boozing together anyway, and there is no way he can function around other humans at the moment. Misha doesn’t exactly count.

 _Speaking of…_ There is a very naked Misha in the shower right now and for that to pass him by would be a grave travesty.

Jensen swings his legs off the bed, noting he still has his jeans on from earlier, and stands up. The room sways just a little. Goddamn, is he ever gonna have a good fuck after his shower and then fucking sleep! 

Practically crawling out of his clothes, he gets himself naked and heads into the bathroom. The light is on and the fan whirs—even though it’s useless and the room is already mostly steam.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Judging by the tone, Misha is surprised he’s awake at all.

“Shower got me up.” Heh. Jensen chuckles at his unplanned innuendo.

Misha doesn’t say anything back except to let out his own tired little laugh. Exhaustion is still a thick fog around him as he walks to the toilet and pulls up the seat. A yawn creaks out, his jaw stretched wide, the sound of the shower in the background the kind of white noise that makes your eyes droop.

Flushing the toilet, he takes the single step to the left and pulls the curtain back. Ah yeah…naked and wet. Misha looking his best, he thinks with a sly grin.

Sleepiness slips off as he steps into the tub basin and closes the curtain, moving in towards the man rinsing soap from his hair—his eyes closed.

Feeling the already half-full erection growing from his hips, Jensen presses against Mish’ lower-half. “Mmm, _hello_. We have a night alone.”

The smile Misha sends his way is half-hearted and distracted. An immediate red-flag.

“What’s up?” he asks, concern in his voice. Misha clears the water and soap from his face before he opens his eyes. The blue looks off next to the pinkish whites of his eyes.

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“You’re a shitty liar, Mish.” Jensen moves under the spray as Misha makes room for him. The joint shower is a common thing and they have coordination down to a science. 

The water flows over him, matting down his hair into heavy saturated clumps from the uneven shower head. The temperature of the spray is just below hot enough and it’s exceptionally annoying when he’s hankering for a good shower.

The quiet lingers, and he pipes up again. “Seriously, what’s up? Missing the kids?” It’s been pretty obvious that Misha has been talking about them more and more over the last few days—usually a pretty good sign that the guy is getting homesick. It annoys Jensen endlessly that he gets jealous. Evil, he thinks, it’s evil to be jealous of kids!

Still, he often wonders if Misha ever really gets homesick for _him_? If he does, he never says anything about it.

“Yes, I am. It’s been a long day. I kind of just want to sleep. I’m feeling crappy.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know—just tired. Stop bugging me.” Misha pushes past him to get to the spray above and starts aggressively rinsing off the apricot scrub stuff from his face and hands.

“Geez, you’re grouchy.” Unable to help himself, Jensen curves himself against Misha’s back, reaching around the front to close him into a hug. Planting his chin on Misha’s shoulder, he turns in and kisses the wet inner curve of his neck; nuzzling and rubbing his scruff against all the spots that usually make Mish shiver.

“I’m sorry, I’m really not at all in the mood right now.”

/\/\/\

Annnnnd there is that damn sigh, Misha thinks, his irrational irritation moving in front and centre. Granted, Rome is their hot spot and for him to shut Jensen down like this is an unheard of thing.

“Not in the mood.” Jensen repeats with a pissy tone.

It’s stupid that the whole reason for his shitty mood is because the hottest man on the planet is warming his bed on a regular occasion. What the fuck is wrong with him? Christ, he should be singing and leaping and pointing to all of Jensen’s fangirls and going “ _Ha! He’s mine!!!”_

Instead, he’s sulking like a child.

“Did you look at the ops today?”

Obviously this direction of questions is not what he’d been expecting. Jensen grabs his shoulders and forcibly turns him around. Their eyes meet and Misha is reminded how old and tired he must look in comparison to all that wet hunk of hotness.

“No. Why? Was there any inappropriateness going on?”

Misha avoids the question. “Are you done?” he asks, in reference to the shower.

“I guess. Didn’t actually need to shower, just wanted to be naked with you.”

Reaching back to the dials, Misha quickly shuts the whole thing down. The rushing gone from the steamy bathroom with shitty ventilation, the awkward tension that had somehow slid between them becomes very loud in comparison. Oh god, he just wants to sleep. A good solid eight hours and he’ll be his normal self again.

Jensen climbs out first and hands him a towel before taking his own.

“You’re making me worried, Mish. What’s wrong? You seem all depressed.”

Why couldn’t Jensen have stayed sleeping? Too tired to argue, he just lets it all out in a rush, the towel held loose around his hips. “You’re a freaking Greek God! That’s what! It’s actually a little ridiculous how hot you are, you know. I went and looked at our pictures for a minute earlier today and, ugh, I looked like this sad, pathetic, tired old man next to you! I’m—I’m not exactly on the same level here. I’ve never been. I mean, fuck, you can’t knock the fans and their—what are they called?—AU’s or something? Where they make you this hottie jock, and me this nerdy loser or something. It’s fucking dead-on. And the thing is, it really doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. In the natural hierarchy of couplings for mammals and our own species, you are not supposed to be with me. Not that you and I will, or can, procreate by any means. But I think I just saw how horribly substandard I am compared to you.” At the look Jensen’s making, he rambles away his irrational behaviour (even though it sticks around his brain like taffy). “Okay, okay! Yes, _maybe_ , I’m overtired and being whiny and just-just slightly senseless, but, I look at you and then I look at us together and it’s just—I don’t get it. How are we even together? You were straight…and like…married. And they’ve done studies and you have like this literal perfect face. I’m serious. And me, I’m just getting older and weirder. Pretty soon they’ll kick me off the internet—I’m sure. Fuck. I’ll shut up now.”

“You’re done?” is all Jensen responds with after his giant rant.

“Yes,” he answers, still mildly out of breath.

Jensen opens the door and leaves him alone in the bathroom. Dumbfounded, Misha stares at the open door for about thirty seconds before he follows after the most perfect ass ever.

By the end of the bed, Jensen is standing as still as a statue. And as a naked as most of them tend to be. The damp towel is draped over the desk chair.

“Come here.” It’s a demand, not a request.

Walking over, he’s not sure what to expect. A profound inner insecurity has wrapped around him, and in an unshakeable way he feels hideous and wholly unworthy of the man in front of him.

More than he’s ever experienced before, Misha can sense the lack of definition of his muscles, the diminutive size of them—especially in comparison. Yes, he runs almost every day. But that only keeps him from getting fat, the rest of him is plain. Weak arms, no real abs to speak of though his stomach is flatter than most men. Still…he has a lot of wrinkles now and the exhaustion bags that billow out from under his eyes sometimes are impossible to get rid of.

Shocking him out of his inner criticism, Jensen yanks off the towel from around his hips and whips it to the back of the room where it slaps against the thick sun-blocking curtains and lands on the floor.

It says a lot for the negative state of his mind that he’s not even a little hard at this point. Especially considering both dominance and Jensen are major turn-ons for him.

“Lay on the bed.”

“Jensen—“

“Don’t make me push you…” he warns, the low heat of his voice should have Misha whining to be fucked. Instead he resigns himself to whatever Jensen has planned and flops onto his back, bracing his arms to shove himself up higher so he can rest his head back on the pillows, eyes trained up on the ceiling. It’s white…and boring.

“Touch yourself,” instructs Jensen.

Making a face, Misha raises himself halfway up from the bed and looks once down at his evident flaccid cock. “Look, I'm seriously not in the mood. I wish I was… _really_.”

“Not there,” he corrects. “Your thighs.”

Whatever, he thinks, wholly disinterested, and reaches down to grab the top part of his thigh. Absently, he rubs as if it ached from a long run, if for nothing else than to pass the time.

“What do you feel?”

“My thigh,” he shoots back sarcastically.

“Don’t be a smartass, Mish. Describe it.”

Ugh. “It’s a thigh. A large muscle. Used for standing, walking, biking, fucking you in complicated positions…”

“ _Describe it.”_ Jensen demands a little rougher this time, his voice shifting towards Dean’s. That cuts off Misha’s near abrasive retort and he decides to at least pretend to play along. He knows what Jensen is trying to do, and for his love’s sake, he’ll play along.

“Hard when I flex, soft when I don’t. Smooth…but there’s hair, though not a lot.”

“Nice and warm, huh?”

“Well, we did just shower.”

“Touch your chest.”

The bed dips near his feet as he moves his hands up to his chest and rubs across the area. His skin is no longer damp from the shower. It’s getting colder the longer he’s exposed to the chilly air of the room. In fact, his nipples are incredibly hard.

“Touch and describe…”

Swallowing a breath more than breathing it, Misha touches over his skin and speaks as if he’s autopiloting through a fan response. “Smooth, warm…my nipples are—“

Jensen’s hands brace just above his knees, pushing him harder against the bed. Automatically, he flexes every muscle. “Nice and hard. And incredibly strong,” Jensen comments, rubbing up his legs. “Not quite strong enough,” he adds, pushing Misha’s thighs apart. “And yes, your nipples are very hard, too. Are you cold?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll turn the heat up if you rub from your chest, down your stomach to your thighs and tell me how good you feel, how perfect you are the entire time.”

“Jensen…”

“I can turn the dial lower if you want…”

“—No!”

“Alright then. Touch yourself and tell me how good it is. Tell me why I can’t stand being away from you. Tell me you’re perfect inside and out. C’mon…”

It’s so fucking dumb. And yet, he’ll pretend just to appease Jensen and make him feel like he’s helped. The fact that he’s kind of self-conscious and feeling more awkward than ever is massively annoying. Misha feels like the quintessential geek-girl being falsely wooed by some egotistical jock. But…the man kneeling between his “strong” thighs is not some brainless jock trying to get in the pants of a four-eyed supernerd. Misha loves Jensen. More than he imagined possible. 

Closing his eyes so he feels less like an idiot, Misha touches over himself, first pinching at his nipples. “They’re hard, but, uh, soft…and it tingles.” Moving lower, he feels his skin turn pink. “I’m-I’ve got soft skin, and it’s, uh, tight, I guess. Well…except for my face—“

“You’re face is perfect,” Jensen cuts him off, breaking the ruse of his own game. It’s a relief. He didn’t quite expect praising himself to be so damn difficult.

With a  groan, he says, “I’m old and tired and I’m beginning to look it.”

Taking him by surprise, Jensen grabs his wrists and plants them above his head and moves to straddle his waist.

“I see you’re having trouble with this, so let me help you along. Every goddamn inch of you is perfection, Dmitri Tippens Krushnic, from your permanent sex hair to your incredible blue eyes to your plump, sometimes over-dry lips, to your soft, warm skin that smells like fruit and home to me, and to your hard, lean muscles that I love having wrapped around my hips—to every fucking wrinkle that I’d like to think I helped create from a few smiles over the years—and to every fleeting look of exhaustion that reminds me of the two of us naked, sweaty, and sucking each other off and as a result getting a brief three hours of sleep…”

Jensen gradually lowers over him, their skin pushing and sliding together. The feel of it is so familiar. Remarkable green eyes find his and they’re so incredibly serious, it’s impossible to look away.

“I’ve never seen you insecure before, Mish. And there’s no reason for it. You’re amazing; don’t you know that? You’re everything I wish I was: you’re charming and sweet and you care about people so much and you spend all your time trying to help others and trying to make the rest of us weirdos feel normal, or at least remind us that there is no such thing as normal. I was afraid to be myself before I met you. I was scared of being who I was and having everyone still like me. I’m a dork, and ya know, that’s okay! I fell in love with a guy, and you know, that’s okay, too! There’s a reason that you have two million followers on twitter and that you’re practically more popular than Jared and I. Women love you! Men love you! _I_ _love you_! You have no reason to think you’re subpar in anyway whatsoever. If anything, you’re better. And, yeah, you’re getting older, Mish. So am I. We’re both getting wrinkles, but personally, I think we’re aging pretty goddamn good.”

Feeling the weight of Jensen on him, and the unwavering green stare piercing into him, he feels flooded with love.

“Why did you kiss me back? That very first time. I thought for sure you were gonna tell me to fuck off.”

“Because I liked you, dummy.”

A low laugh escapes him. “Yeah, but, what exactly were you thinking. In that exact moment.”

Jensen's eyebrows pull together and he squints, no doubt searching across the years to that one moment. A moment clouded by alcohol and time.

He smiles before he answers. “I thought: _Holy shit Misha is fucking kissing me! And wow…it feels damn good._ And then I kissed you back, and my brain probably stopped working after that.”

“You did not actually think that!” he argues.

“Yes I did. I was also terrified, and nervous, and horny as horny can get! I’m not the hot guy that every one makes me out to be, Mish. You know I hate that. I don’t like you second-guessing why I’m with you because you’re starting to see me the same way all those girls do—“

“—and guys.”

Jensen smirks. “…and guys. Thing is? There’s only one guy I care about.”

“Your dad.”

Snorting, Jensen makes a face.

“Jared?”

“You mean, our overgrown child, right?”

They both chuckle, the moment lightens. “Are you referring to me? Your secretive older lover.”

“Oh, would you fuck off with the old man talk. I’m only three years younger than you.”

With a sigh, he finally feels his earlier self-doubt abate. “I’m sorry for being a downer. I think I just need a good sleep.”

Smiling wide, Jensen shuffles a little lower on him. Hovering over his chest, he lowers his mouth to a nipple and tickles it with his tongue.

“Dammit, you know they’re like buttons.” For whatever reason, Misha’s nipples are hardwired to his dick and anytime Jensen or Vicki plays with them, he’s usually immediately on board with any sexual activity presented to him. It’s an unfair advantage. Jensen has no such button. Granted, he’s usually just very, very easy.

Not bothering to say anything back to that, Jensen flicks the hardened bud with the very tip of his tongue, the wetness heightening the feel of the air around him. When it gets to be _almost_ too much, Jensen closes his mouth right over and sucks, throwing in a little nibbling too.

That’s all it takes for Misha to start pushing his hips up and rubbing his dick against Jensen's belly. In the very back of his mind, he’s still slightly aware that he doesn’t look his best and it takes away from the pleasure of the moment.

/\/\/\

Jensen knows by the distant look in his eyes that Misha is only about ninety-percent with him. He makes it his mission of the night to ensure that by the time they go to bed Misha is feeling like a god.

Leaving the pert nipples naked and aching for his mouth, Jensen shifts back up to dole out a raunchy kiss; all full of tongue and teeth and moaning. He rides his hips in a wave with the same tempo of the kiss, using his one free hand to trail lightly down Misha’s side.

The graze of their sex together is a bit rough, and he can’t keep it going for long. At least, not without something to slick things up a little.

Pulling back, gently sucking at Misha’s lower lip on the way, he drags his lips over the coarse thick-haired angle of his jaw, and then sucking all the way down to the base of his neck, pulling the light skin right into his mouth. Fuck, that’ll be a hickey for sure. But who cares. The con’s done. As long as no one snaps a pic of Mish over the next four days, they’re all set.

Keeping up the attack of his mouth running hot over Misha’s skin, he slides his one hand down between them and rubs them both, his palm stroking down the side of their erect cocks.

Pushing on his knees, he moves up to Misha’s ear and licks into it. A full-bodied shiver courses through the body beneath him. “Fuck, I want you,” he says, quickly pulling the soft fleshy part into his mouth.

A little, pleasured noise is breathed across Jensen’s cheek and he knows that he’s doing his job well.

Crawling backwards, leaving a trail of little pecks in his wake, he gets himself settled between Misha’s thighs and bends over to lick across the crest of his flushed cock. It’s laying hard against his pelvis and Jensen grabs the shaft with his fist and pulls it up for his mouth, taking it in deep.

“Jesus- _fuck_ , Jensen,” groans Misha, his one leg moving out to the side.

Taking the presented opportunity, he pulls off and trades the weighted sex for his own two fingers and gets them good and wet.

“Ease up.” The simple command is followed, Misha’s thighs pulling back just enough to give him easier access.

His mouth gets back to business, the heady taste of sex exploding across his tastebuds, the salty dribbles of precome getting swallowed down. In a well-practiced sequence, he bobs up and down, sucking hard while his other hand travels exploratively down between Misha’s legs. His wet fingers trace across the puckered entrance, and he rubs it hard enough to give away his impatience.

One finger slides in effortlessly, and he fills his mouth with Misha’s pulsing erection before he pushes in the second finger. The soft, silky insides grip his two fingers and presses in as far as he can and pulls back. Twists, and then repeats, over and over.

Mish is moaning heavy now, his legs loosely bent in the air.

“More…” pants Misha. “Fuck, babe, drive me insane.”

That’s what I’m trying to do, he thinks to himself with a strange inward sort of smile. Jensen finds a good rhythm with his mouth and fingers, sucking down and pushing in. It’s on the withdraw that he mixes it up; sometimes dragging his lips up before he slides his fingers to the rim, other times he does the opposite.

And then he gets all circular and shit. Christ, it’s like fifty shades of whatever. Twisting his head, his lips twirl around the shaft, his tongue circling the crown. Torqueing his wrist hard, he basically screws Misha with just two fingers, hitting hard as he gets real close.

“Ahhhh…fuckin’ hell. What are you—“ The aborted sentence hangs in the air, the only sounds are slurping and heavy breathing. Damn, it’s hot. Both literally and figuratively. So much for turning the dial up. All they needed was to get jiggy with it.

“God, just one more finger, pleaaasse…”

A laugh ripples from the base of his throat and no doubt Misha can feel it on his cock. Slowly, he eases his fingers out and realizes he should definitely grab the lube. But moving off the bed is met with resistance.

“Nonono—where are you going?!” Misha’s eyes are wide and heated, his hair playing the role of haystack for the night and there’s a bead of sweat trickling down his hairline.

“Getting our stuff. Do you _want_ to be sore tomorrow?”

“Ugh! Hurry up!” Mish growls.

Geez. Someone’s forgetting all about their earlier worries. Ahh, sweet success. Jensen is smiling cockily as he digs through his luggage for the Ziploc with the KY bottle in it. They never used to put it in a baggy, but once it sort of exploded. And yeah, that had been unfortunate.

Snapping off the cap, he squeezes some onto his fingers and uses his thumb to move it around. Casting his eyes back onto the bed, he’s taken aback by how breathtakingly gorgeous Mish is like this. The lean lines of his well-cared for body, the flush on his cheeks, and the wide, tempting mouth—currently pulled into an angry frown—all composited together into one incredible human being.

Jensen grabs Misha’s ankle and pulls his leg close to lay some kisses over the skin. Going back and forth between kissing Misha’s hair-covered man legs and Danneels buttery smooth skin is always a bit strange. Not bad strange, just different. Frankly, he likes both. There’s a little spot on the inside of Mish’ knee that is naked of hair and extra ticklish; he sucks a good kiss there and feels Misha squirm.

“Every time,” says Mish endearingly.

“It’s one of your spots.” And I love all of them, he thinks to himself. With a wink, he says, “Spread ‘em.”

When Misha does… _Goddamn._ Jensen licks his lips.  Scooting down low, Jensen tongues at the two sensitive weights, drawing one after the other into his mouth and then licking up the length of his shaft.

With the immediate future in mind, Jensen is sloppy, letting drips of spit slide down and coat Misha’s flushed sex. Of course, he should be prepping himself right now, but instead he brings his lubed fingers down low and pinches them together and very gently twists and presses against the slick entrance. Sucking hard and fast with his mouth, his head bobbing obscenely with the effort, Jensen drives his fingers deep, burying in until he hears a ragged groan tear out of Misha’s throat.

For an added tease, he turns his hand up and curls his fingers, rubbing in smooth passes against the front wall, hitting exactly the right spot to make Mish squirm and pant.

“Shit, I’m dying…I’m dying…” babbles Mish; evidently feeling pretty good, he’d say.

Right when he has his man on the brink of tumbling over, he slides his fingers out and pulls off, wiping his mouth with his other hand.

It’s very opportunistic that Misha is wildly disoriented, grinding his hips up, knees spread wide, muscles trembling. The soft curses and rough inhales are fucking music to Jensen’s ears. Capitalizing on Misha being utterly distracted with the throb of his halted release, Jensen quickly rubs some of the leftover KY from his hands down to his own aching spot, and as his fingers graze across the tight entrance, he thinks that this really isn’t gonna last long.

Straightening Misha’s restless legs, he crawls up over his hips, straddles himself and grabs Misha’s warm, rigid cock in his hand and exhales, trying to loosen himself for it, knowing he’s way underprepped for immediate fucking, but too eager to care much.

The face below is suddenly all about surprise and rapt attention now that he knows what’s happening.

“Oh, fuck…you’re gonna—“ Misha’s deep voice dies on the air as the blunt head of his cock nudges just past the tight ring of muscle, and holy crapola. Yow. No prep and eagerness is so not the way to go. Jensen pauses there, his thighs trembling with the strain.

“I’m not moving, I’m not moving, I’m not moving…” Misha babbles, slamming his eyes closed.

Jensen laughs, and feels the pressure lessen as he relaxes, slowly, _slowwwly_ , sliding down all the way. The moment he’s seated, the heat blooming in his groin, his erection jutting out for attention, his focus tips sideways and his headache from earlier threatens to double-back on him. All that bobbing and sucking and quick breathing is probably not what he should be doing when he’s hungover and exhausted, but, whatever, he’ll dose up with Tylenol later and sleep for, like, ever.

Leaning forward to get better leverage, he starts moving back and forth, registering the strain in his kneecaps and knowing one day his knee will likely lock-up right in the middle of fucking. Hopefully that won’t be tonight.

Glancing down, he has his weight braced on his arms, hands in fists digging into the pillow on either side of Misha’s head. It’s not the smoothest of positions, or maybe it could be if he weren’t so tired, but Mish seems to be loving it.

/\/\/\

The tight heat grips around his shaft and his vision fades for a brief second before clearing up to see Jensen working his hips in Misha’s lap, the back and forth motions so enticing and mesmerizing that he reaches out to grab at Jensen’s hard, muscular thighs and uselessly tries to help things along.

Even with his cock buried in Jensen’s ass, he can still feel the tingle leftover from having three fingers plying him with blissful sensation. The added awareness is heightened the more he moves, and they find a rhythm together with Jensen sitting back, his feet planted and his knees out wide.

From this vantage point, Misha can see his thick sex slide in and out, the slick coating him catching the light from the lamp by the bed, and above that is Jensen’s straining erection, bouncing with the movements. It’s too tempting not to grab—but the moment his fingers curl around at the base, coarse trimmed hair skirting along the outside of his pinkie—Jensen pushes him off.

“No, I’m-I just want, just this… _ugh,_ ” argues Jensen, not entirely coherent.

Confused but finding he’s content to simply watch Jensen fuck onto him, Misha moves his hands back to his lover’s legs, trailing his blunt nails over the skin, digging into the flexing muscles. Another slight adjustment of position and Jensen braces himself a little higher, putting additional strain on his thighs and it makes for a longer, full movement as he rises up and falls back down slow, using exceptional control.

Misha loses himself to the feel of it, closing his eyes for a long minute, relishing in the hot squeeze working over his cock, the squish of Jensen’s asscheeks on his thighs as he impales himself all the way down.

“Mish—“

Raising his eyelids, he finds Jensen with his hands extended and waiting, fingers spread wide, looking for support. With their hands intertwined, Jensen lets some of his weight push back onto Mish and he starts riding him faster, grinding up and down and back and forth.

The unattended cock slapping between Jensen’s wide-spread legs catches Misha’s attention and he can’t not stare at it. The substantial girth and length is greater than his own, but not by much. They’re both quite above average and he finds himself smiling in a giddy way knowing that he’s the only man that’s had that cock in him.

After a couple minutes, he can see the sweat beading at the edge of Jensen’s hairline, his face turning a hard shade of red, the muscles of his thighs are visibly quivering and he squeezes around Jensen’s fingers to get his attention.

“Keep still,” he says, letting go and reaching down to palm under Jensen’s thighs and support some of his weight.

Knowing what’s coming next, Jensen groans and throws his head back, the column of his throat begging for a good suck and a bite but he’s too far away.

“Fair…warning…I’m really fucking…close,” Jensen breathes the words, broken and rough.

Considering neither of them have even stroked his dick once, that little admission is a formidable turn-on for Mish.

Canting his hips up in a slow lift, he sheathes himself in deep, the breath that had been stuck in his throat rushes out. After that, he maxes out his pace, slamming up hard and fast, the jut of his hipbones protruding out and grinding into Jensen’s rigid muscles.

The shivery fever of arousal captivates his senses and instead of supporting Jensen by bolstering his thighs, he’s gripping and pulling; attempts at crashing them together a little rougher, a lot less refinery commanding his motions.

The heady slaps of ass cheeks on thighs cascades around the room, the low grunts all muted in comparison and wonderfully raw.

“Fuuuu _ckkk_ ,” Jensen’s eyes are rolling back and around, his head lazily lolling over his shoulders with the jarring motions. “Oh fuck, fuck. Mmm, _Christ!”_

“Uhnm,” Mish grates out less detailed exultations. The best he’s got is half-formed curses that usually break off when Jensen’s rim grips tight around him. Everything distorts into fuzzy snippets of skin and lax mouths gasping for air.

The thick humidity in the room prickles along his scalp in rivulets of sweat, and the pressure in him builds and builds. His thighs are burning but he’s too close; slamming his hips upwards as hard as he can. The beginning soft touches have died in the midst of things, and it’s all about sating primal need now.

Drifting his attention between his dick sliding into Jensen and the glorious tight near-orgasm face that makes his balls draw up against his body, Misha struggles to get his lungs moving fast enough.

Jensen’s no longer moaning so much as outright yelling nonsense; Misha fucks him harder, wondering how it's possible that his cock is still moving in nice and smooth.

“Oh god, oh god, fuck—holy shit. I’m—fuck,” the ramble of unfinished sentences is abruptly cut off as Jensen freezes and drags his ass back and forth on a full thrust, his mouth hanging open, his stare blazing down at Misha.

Fuck, he can’t miss this. Misha’s blue eyes snap down and watch, just in time, as Jensen’s cock jerks as the first spurt of come shoots out, his thighs trembling. He’s smart to close his eyes quickly, because some of it hits the side of his face, and then down his neck, and then all over his chest and stomach. The feel of all that hot release and the spasming of Jensen’s ass around his dick rips the orgasm from the center of his body, a burst of pressure that drives up his shaft and the warmth of it spills into Jensen in incredible pulses.

They’re both groaning through the shudders of release, slowly fucking into each aftershock that beats from their cocks like an ecstasy-driven heartbeat. The high of it slowly wears down and exhaustion rushes back over them like it was angry for the interruption.

Jensen barely has the energy to hoist himself up enough to detach them and promptly crashes back down, the come between them making a lewd noise as their sweat-slick chests slam together.

“Ughhh,” grumbles Jensen. “Amazing,” he drawls in sated contentment.

“I guess so—you’ve never come like that,” he comments, surprised and, _frankly_ , proud. Not once has he ever seen Jensen come untouched.

Barely easing up from his shoulder, Jensen plants a kiss to the side of his face and then shifts his mouth to his ear. “Told ya you’re incredible. I’ve come close to doing that a few times, but always wanted to feel that extra touch to go over. This time, I thought I would show you what you do to me.” The breathless drift of his speech warms Misha’s heart. And it’s dumb to get all cheesy about things but feeling Jensen’s weight on him, not to mention his come, and then hearing his voice, all raw and still punctuated with big inhales really does a number for his confidence.

“Well, I do feel much better,” he admits.

Jensen laughs, all tired and with a sigh. “Me too. I’m gonna roll over and you just wipe me down and then it's sleep-time.”

“Wipe you down? Why am I on cleanup duty? I’m the one plastered in jizz.”

“Pssh—I just did a thirty minute squat. My thighs are jello. _Pleeaasseee_ ,” he begs, slowly beginning to roll off Misha’s chest.

They reek of sex. It’s amazing.

Groaning, but relenting, Misha sort of slumps off the side of the bed and trudges bonelessly to the bathroom for a damp hand towel. The come from his stomach is starting to run down his skin.

“My god, were you saving up for a rainy day?!” he exclaims over his shoulder. Literally, come is everywhere on him. Showering would be preferred but he’s way too fucking lazy for that.

The mostly asleep murmur of sound makes it into the bathroom just as he’s turning to face the mirror. Cataloguing his appearance, he smiles at himself. The streaks over his skin glisten, not dry just yet. His dark brown hair is an utterly ridiculous picture of chaos. The back of it sticking up near the crown of his head, and the front matted against his still-flushed forehead, His cheeks too are red, the left side marked with a glaze of release. And his lips, naturally full on a normal day, are ruddy and swollen. All in all, he looks good.

Smirking as he turns away, he grabs a hand towel, passes it under a running tap for a couple seconds and wipes himself down. Rinsing the thing once more, he brings it back out to the room and finds Jensen spread-eagle on the bed, snoring.

It’s fucking adorable. There’s a glaze on his chest too, and some between his thighs. He flinches when Misha starts cleaning him up but doesn’t wake.

The damp cloth is thrown to the floor and he has to tug the white linen comforter out from under Jensen’s legs. It’s got a damp spot, so he flips it over and then crawls under as it’s settling.

Goddamn, that took eight thousand years, he thinks, his body practically sighing as it goes loose inside the folds of the blankets, his head sinking against the pillow. The surge of post-sex hormones swimming through his veins causes him to throw an arm out and scoot closer to Jensen, curling around his body; the heat still radiating off of him.

“I love you,” he says softly just as sleep is starting to drag him under like a riptide.

“ _Mmng_ ,” Jensen groans in his sleep. Misha smiles at the sound. It’s the best kind of: _I love you too._

 

  


End file.
